


you're saying the words that i want you to say

by AndroidPalindrome



Series: take your whole life then you put a line through it [3]
Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: (Lothric is also nonbinary but that's not the focus of the fic), (can be read as a stand-alone as long as one is willing to suspend some disbelief), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming Out, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Families of Choice, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Gwyndolin and Lorian are both nonbinary, Gwynevere is Not the Queen of Lothric, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, No Incest, Nonbinary Character, Tenderness, discussion of gender identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 22:29:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20015809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndroidPalindrome/pseuds/AndroidPalindrome
Summary: Lorian grew quiet for a moment, idly tapping his fingers along Gwyndolin’s sides from where they ended in the hug, as if pondering something. Then, “ I have a confession.”Gwyndolin quirked a curious eyebrow towards his white hairline. “ Oh?”“ Yes.” Lorian shifted--nervously, Gwyndolin noted--and the god let his hands fall still from where they were separating the silky strands of his beloved’s hair. Lorian was prone to get overwhelmed and distracted when nervous, especially when exposed to unnecessary outside stimulation, and Gwyndolin wished for him to be able to clearly speak his mind. “ Would you believe me if I...if I told you I do not feel entirely like a man?”(In which Gwyndolin waxes rhapsodic about Lorian's hair, Lorian comes out as nonbinary to Gwyndolin (who more than understands how he feels), and everything is as soft and sweet as these heroes of the Lordran deserve.)





	you're saying the words that i want you to say

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings: Implied, referenced, and discussed child abuse; heavy discussion of gender identity issues and gender dysphoria; mild discussion of homophobia, transphobia, femmephobia, and queerphobia; implied human sacrifice (because Lothric); snake legs.
> 
> Notes: While this story technically takes place after 'Throw Stars at the Twilight' and 'walking me across a fragile line (and comfort's calling late)', this truly can be read as just a stand-alone bit of fluff, and is the first part of a set of 'unconnected' Lorilin stories that I plan on writing. You'll have MORE of a clue of what's going on if you read those two parts first, sure, but you'll be fine able to enjoy yourself as long as you go with the flow.

Gwyndolin loved Lorian’s hair.

Sometimes, when they were in bed together, Lorian would roll over Gwyndolin’s body and rest himself on his forearms so they could look each other in the eyes. Unless it was pulled back in a ponytail (which was only when Lorian was training or fighting without his helm), Lorian’s hair would cascade down his shoulders in waves that were dark gray when damp, and a shade--when dry--that seemed to flicker between platinum blonde in the light and silver in the dark. 

Gwyndolin loved it when Lorian’s hair fell just _so_ around his own head--almost as if making a curtain that blocked out the rest of the world, leaving a little pocket of time and space that was just for the two of them. The god could never resist combing Lorian’s hair with his fingers whenever they were on top of each other just so, and his heart and stomach always seemed to switch places whenever Lorian closed his eyes and purred at the sensation. It was one of the most endearing things he had ever seen.

“ I am surprised that Oceiros allowed thee to wear thy hair so long,” Gwyndolin remarked one day while the two of them were sprawled on Gwyndolin’s bed, waiting for Lothric and Yorshka to return from visiting Kuro and Wolf while enjoying a rare Boreal sunset, which set the room aflame with the colors of Gwyndolin’s heterochromic eyes. They were lying on their sides, facing each other, and Lorian had shifted forward to rest his head against Gwyndolin’s chest when the god began to stroke his hair. “ I thought he and the rest of the nobility of Lothric ascribed heavily to the outdated gender roles of mine father’s court.”

“ He did, and he _hated_ it,” Lorian replied. Gwyndolin could feel the knight’s smirk pressing through the fabric of his light blue robe. “ But Mother always stood up for me when I was little--telling Father that she’d take her sewing scissors to his own beard if he tried to force me to cut my hair against my wishes. By the time Mother…” He swallowed, then began again. “ By the time Mother fell ill, I was a knight of twenty-one years, and there was nothing he could do to force me to bend to his whims.”

 _Desdimonda._ A lancet of pain pierced Gwyndolin’s heart. _Blessed and brilliant Desdimonda--she who would always place herself between mineself and mine father when I was small, risking her own position in the court to protect me from his wrath. Of course she would do no less for her own flesh and blood._ The god made a vow, then and there, to rescue Desdimonda from the prisons that held her--physically and mentally--the moment the time was right. That it itself was the least he could do.

“ I am glad that thou wast allowed to keep thy hair long.” Absentmindedly, Gwyndolin brought his other hand up from Lorian’s back and began to smooth his hair with both hands, idly separating it into three different strands. Lorian’s chest rumbled in pleasure, and he wrapped his arms around Gwyndolin’s middle to pull him close, nosing the god’s soft cotton robe and breathing in his scent. “ I must admit, I am quite fond of the length...although, thou art more than welcome to cut thy hair however thou seest fit. I would adore thee even if thou shaved thyself bald.”

Lorian barked a laugh into Gwyndolin’s chest, making the Nameless Moon’s skin tingle. “ I believe I would rather have my legs chopped off--as useless as they are growing--before I chop off my hair!” He grew quiet for a moment, idly tapping his fingers along Gwyndolin’s sides from where they ended in the hug, as if pondering something. Then, “ I have a confession.”

Gwyndolin quirked a curious eyebrow towards his white hairline. “ Oh?”

“ Yes.” Lorian shifted--nervously, Gwyndolin noted--and the god let his hands fall still from where they were separating the silky strands of his beloved’s hair. Lorian was prone to get overwhelmed and distracted when nervous, especially when exposed to unnecessary outside stimulation, and Gwyndolin wished for him to be able to clearly speak his mind. “ Would you believe me if I...if I told you I do not feel entirely like a man?”

“ Of course I would.” It was silly, really, to think that Gwyndolin would ever deny Lorian the right to label himself--not after his own childhood, and not after his own personal dysphoria when it came to his own gender--but Lorian’s anxiety was real, and Gwyndolin’s stomach squeezed as he pondered its root. “ Dost thou see thyself as a woman, then? Or something outside of the human duality?”

Lorian had stiffened just before Gwyndolin had begun to speak ( _almost,_ the god noted sorrowfully, _as if he was bracing himself for a blow_ ), but he seemed...almost stunned, at Gwyndolin’s easy and casual acceptance of his confession, and the elder prince seemed to fold in on himself in relief, emitting a sound that was halfway between an exhale and a chuckle.

“ No, not a woman, but also...not a man.” Lorian made a noise of distress, and Gwyndolin was quick to shush him, rubbing his manicured fingers soothingly over the crown of his head before they returned to organizing his hair. “ It is...it is very hard to explain.”

“ Just do thy best. We have nowhere pressing to go.”

“...thank you, Gwyndolin. _Thank you._ ” This time, Lorian’s laugh sounded genuinely happy, and he loosened his arms and slid himself ever so slightly down the body of his beloved. “ I suppose it starts with Lothric.”

“ As do many good things.”

“ Yes.” Once Lorian was at the level of Gwyndolin’s stomach, he pressed his face into its softness and sighed, the definition of contentment as he tightened his arms around Gwyndolin’s waist. Gwyndolin waited until he was sure Lorian was satisfied with his position before he began to braid the knight’s hair with his delicate yet deft fingers, listening intently to his lover as he spoke. “ Well, a few days after Lothric turned seven, he came to me with what he saw as a very serious question.”

“ Which was?”

“ ‘Lorian, what do I call myself if I do not feel like a girl or a boy?’” Lorian raised his voice in what was a surprisingly adept imitation of Lothric’s voice. Perhaps they possessed similar vocal cords. “ I did not know how to answer, of course--no such identities were ever spoken of in Lothric, outside of romance novels brought in from the outside--so I simply asked what he wished to be. He said ‘a dragon gremlin’.”

Gwyndolin somehow managed to nearly drop and yank Lorian’s braid all at once as he choked from laughter. “ Of _course_ he did! What an absolute _darling!_ ” 

“ Isn’t he?” Lorian’s voice was teeming with fondness at the memory. Oh, he was so soft whenever he spoke of his brother--as soft and sweet as one could possibly be. Gwyndolin absolutely _adored_ that about him. “ Well, I said that there was no reason he couldn’t be a ‘dragon gremlin’ if he wanted to be; after all, he was a crossbreed, and who would deny a child that was destined to die the identity he wanted to embrace during the short time he was alive?”

Lorian’s voice shook ever so slightly at the last sentence. Gwyndolin dropped one hand to rest on the back of his neck, soothingly, and the elder prince shuddered and rubbed his face on the god’s stomach.

“...As I was saying.” Lorian’s voice was small when he spoke again, but Gwyndolin rubbed the back of his neck with his thumb until he memories slipped back under the bed, releasing their silencing hold on his beloved and restoring his resolve. “ Lothric seemed more than enthusiastic to embrace his new gender as ‘dragon gremlin’, but Emma and the other handmaidens seemed more... _confused_ than anything--almost offended, even. You have to remember, Gwyndolin, that the idea of a gender outside of ‘male’ and ‘female’ has probably never crossed the minds of most of those that were born and bred in the castle. Even the populace, if they know better, are silent about their own gender identities. It took until I was ten for Father to even _reluctantly_ allow unions of the same sex, and he forbade them to be performed by any religious authority. He only allowed it in the first place in an attempt to stem the trickle of our citizens emigrating from the kingdom.”

Intellectually, of course, Gwyndolin had been made more than aware of the stiff gender binary all but legally enforced by the Kingdom of Lothric; his conversations with its expatriates before the arrival of the Twin Princes had been _extremely_ elucidating on the stifling and suffocating climate in which its citizens were forced to live. Hearing how much those rigid roles, however, had hurt his beloved and the child he loved like his own made the Nameless Moon’s blood boil like that of a dragon struck by a Lightning Spear. 

Oh, if it had been his place to do so, Gwyndolin would have personally slipped into Lothric, sliced off Ocieros’ ears while he slept, and split that wretched excuse for a king from stem to stern as he blubbered and soiled himself. Perhaps Gwyndolin would also chop off the tongue that had ordered his youngest to burn and labeled his eldest as a _‘soft and simpering simpleton’_ who was _‘nothing better than a bed-warmer’_ and shove it down his windpipe to silence his empty pleas. Oh, sometimes the God of Moonlight and Judgement would lie awake at night and lose himself in such fantasies, especially on those nights when Lorian would thrash himself awake from a nightmare of cutting words and fists slamming on tables, or dissolve into self-doubt in the safety of Gwyndolin’s arms.

Alas, it was not Gwyndolin’s place to end Oceiros’ pitiable waste of a life, but that of the children and wife he had wronged so dreadfully. So the Nameless Moon simply hummed in understanding and displeasure and imagined using the same hands that were braiding Lorian’s hair to snap his squalling father’s neck.

“ Well,” Lorian continued, blissfully unaware of the tempest thrashing about the inside of Gwyndolin’s skull. “ Emma kept _pressing,_ no matter how much I ordered and even _begged_ her to just... _drop it_ , drop it and leave Lothric be. Are we _really_ going to nitpick the gender of a child that is going to be dead in eleven or so years? Even if you do not understand or disagree with it, why not just let Lothric seize what happiness he can find?” A heavy sigh. “ But Emma...she was so rigid in so many ways. She just _couldn’t_ let it go. For days it was _endless_ : 'but Your Majesty, perhaps Lothric is simply confused, and he should not be encouraged to embark on such flights of fancy!'; 'but Prince Lorian, your father will be _furious_ if he finds out! You know how His Grace feels about boys and men that fail to live up to their godsgiven roles!'; 'but, Prince Lorian, there are no Lords of Cinder that indulge themselves in such foolishness!'”

“ There are quite a few members of Farron’s Undead Legion that would take offense to such commentary.” Gwyndolin replied dryly. Lorian snickered and nuzzled fondly into the softness of Gwyndolin’s blue robe and the even softer skin underneath.

“ She would most likely faint on the spot of she knew. Good riddance.” Lorian’s tone was bitter, but Gwyndolin did not mind; from what the elder prince had told the god about the High Priestess of Lothric and her blind, milquetoast acceptance of Lothric’s sacrifice, that bitterness was more than justified. “ Then, three days after my original conversation with Lothric, we were having yet another butting of heads, and Emma said something about how ‘she could not believe I condoned such tomfoolery’, and I just _snapped._ Gwyndolin, I crowded so close to her that our chests were almost touching, and I said--no, I _yelled_ \--that I would _never_ call Lothric’s uncertainty over his gender identity ‘tomfoolery’, because I...I myself felt the same way.”

Given the mystified tone of Lorian’s voice, it was clear that he was still surprised at those words, but Gwyndolin wished to clarify regardless. “ Didst thou ever have such thoughts before that conversation?”

“ Not at all. The words sprung out of _nowhere,_ dear Gwyndolin, and Emma and I were equally stunned by them. We simply stood in silence and stared at each other, and oh, thank the gods that we were the only ones around! Word surely would have gotten back to Father if we had not been!”

“ I am thankful as well. Oceiros’ reaction would not have been a pretty one.” Given all of the practice Gwyndolin had with Yorshka over the years, the act of fixing hair had become all but unconscious, and the god was able to focus entirely on Lorian’s words as his fingers twisted and spun the three strands of hair into a simple yet elegant Vinheim braid--a fitting style for a knight prince. “ I assume Emma never divulged thy secret.”

“ No. We never spoke about Lothric’s gender--nor my own--after that day. It was quite a relief. Yet after that moment in the pantry, I was left with so many _questions_ \--questions that I had never before asked myself. At first, I thought that I had simply said the words in an attempt to give Lothric’s designation credence, yet the more I considered them…”

“...the more fitting they became.” Gwyndolin finished, giving the three segments a gentle tug to make sure the base was secure before continuing down the middle of the braid. Lorian nodded.

“ I had always known that I never fit comfortably into the kingdom’s definition of a ‘man’. Well, it was impossible to _not_ know, given how Father never ceased to berate me for not living up to his standard of masculinity. I was always too _something_ : too soft; too maternal; too gentle; too quiet. I was never as ruthless as he wanted, nor as brutal or domineering, and--as much as he benefited from my care of Lothric--he would frequently talk about how, if I mothered Lothric more than I already had, I might as well put his mouth to my breast.”

Anger curdled in Gwyndolin’s gut. “ As if breastfeeding one’s young was something _shameful._ ”

“ He never let Mother live down the fact that she choose to breastfeed me herself, rather than handing me over to a wet nurse, as it had been done in the royal family since its inception.” 

Lorian’s sentence concluded with a squeak of pain, and it was only then Gwyndolin realized that, in those few seconds of sickening _rage_ , his fingers had tightened and begun to pull on Lorian’s hair. The god quickly loosened his grip and murmured a litany of apologies, bending over to kiss Lorian on the head, even though he had to nearly fold in half to do so. The knight prince flushed and squirmed in delight, and _oh,_ how Gwyndolin loved this man!

“ Well…” Lorian, clearly flustered, had to smack his lips a few times before he could speak without stuttering. “ I suppose what I was trying to say is that even without Father’s litany of insults and complaints, I would have...would have realized myself that I was not the paragon of masculinity the eldest son was supposed to embody...at least, according to the standards the Kingdom of Lothric has held for thousands of years. Father may have been allowed to garden, but he frowned upon me making flower crowns, so I would have to make sure was occupied or far away before I did so. I enjoyed talking with other children far more than roughhousing. I would occasionally be called out for using ‘feminine’ word choices...though I still have not figured out which ways of speaking are feminine, and which are masculine!” The elder prince had to pause to chortle to himself. “ I would not join in with the other male knights whenever they discussed their exploits with women, and when I would call them out on particularly vile or degrading comments, they would tell me to ‘not get my skirts hiked about my garters’.”

Gwyndolin couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “ How very clever of them.”

“ As you can tell, they were the pinnacle of wit. Mercifully, the knights under my command ended up being far more well-mannered--perhaps due to being of a younger generation...one more exposed to the outside world and its more fluid ways.” Lorian hummed and shrugged. “ But the point is...well…you see my point, yes?”

“ Mhm.” Gwyndolin finished twisting the end of Lorian’s braid into a tail and held it a closed fist to keep it from unraveling. “ However, art thou truly neither male nor female, or dost thou simply disagree with the definition of male held by thy father and thy house?”

“ I thought about that myself.” Lorian pulled his face away from Gwyndolin just enough to peer up at the god, smiling up at him with a vulnerable sort of uncertainty in his eyes. “ Yet I have been here in Irithyll--in the Sunless Realms, where gender roles are all but nonexistent--for close to a year, and...and I still feel as if I am neither a man nor a woman. So...no, no, I do not believe this is just me being disagreeable.”

“ I understand.” The elder prince had no idea just how familiar his own questioning and struggles were to the god he embraced so tenderly. “ Have you ever shared these thoughts with anyone other than mineself? Well, and Lothric, obviously.”

“ Of course. Lothric and I have had many discussions about the nature of being neither male nor female. He is far more insightful about his identity than I am about my own...although he is very supportive when it comes to my struggles.” One of Lorian’s hands went back to touch the end of his braid, and to Gwyndolin, the smile of wonder on his face was akin to the sun peeking through the clouds. “ I once tried confiding in several of my most trusted knights.”

“ And?”

“ They could not understand.” Lorian seemed to deflate at the memory, and the more he spoke, the more bitter his tone became. “ Not the idea of being neither male nor female itself, but about the fact that I felt such a way, for I was far too masculine to be anything but a man! After all, how could Lorian--Warrior Prince, Firebrand, Torchbearer, Demonslayer--be anything but a man? I could wield a Lothric Greatsword one-handed; I could wrestle a wyvern into submission without assistance; I am tall and muscular and have an angular and strong face, and I slew the Demon Prince with my own two hands, so how could I possibly not fit into the gender I was given at birth? ‘Just because you are raising Lothric does not make you a mother, Prince Lorian; you are just a single father! You do not have to call yourself maternal!’ ‘You are just confused, is all, for you are a definition of manhood that many under your command aspire to! It is impossible for you to be _neither_ , My Prince!’”

Gwyndolin opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Closed it again.

“ So...what thou art saying...is that thy men believed that thou wast too _masculine_ to be neither male nor female? That thou wast not feminine enough to hold such an identity?”

Lorian nodded miserably. Gwyndolin took a long breath through his nose before breathing it all out in a rush.

“ That is ridiculous.” Gwyndolin finally concluded, in a voice so flat and joyless that Lorian burst into peals of laughter, making the god’s body quiver along with his own. 

“ It is, isn’t it?” Lorian asked, breathless, as if he had finally received an answer he had been seeking for years. “ It’s completely and utterly _ridiculous_ . Oh, thank you, Gwyndolin. _Thank you_.”

Lorian’s eyes were shining and his voice was cracking at the seams from delight, and _oh_ , Gwyndolin couldn’t take it anymore. He used his snakes to grab the bedpost and yanked himself down the bed until he was face to face with Lorian, one hand still holding his braid together while the other stroked the strong line of Lorian’s jaw.

“ As thou knowest already, mine father raised me as a girl--not only because of mine frail and slight appearance, but because of his associating moonlight magic with the femininity of mine mother, the Goddess of the Cosmos.” Gwyndolin laid his lips, softly, between Lorian’s eyes before pulling away. “ I spent the entirety of mine youth feeling as if mine body was a prison in which I would serve a life sentence: with the hand-me-down wardrobe of mine mother serving as mine cell; the water prosthetic a set of irons slung over mine shoulders; and the reversal ring a shackle locked with an iron key. Escaping from that asylum took almost half of mine life, but when I finally emerged from the darkness, all I found in the light was the sensation that something was still wrong. I knew I was not a woman, but when I finally seized the right to decide mine own gender for mineself, I soon discovered that neither was I a man. I firmly believe that, had mine father not interfered as he had in how I presented and labeled mineself, I would have claimed neither identity as mine own from the start. I am Gwyndolin, God of the Dark Moon, and thou art Lorian, Unyielding Sword of Lothric’s Prince, and that is all that matters.”

Lorian flattened his lips together and thought for a long moment.

“ So…” The knight’s words were hesitant yet hopeful. “ You do not think that I am too... _masculine_ to not call myself a man?”

“ Am I too feminine to not call mineself a woman?” Gwyndolin countered. Lorian shook his head so vigorously that the tail of braid nearly fell from the god’s grip. “ Then thou already knowst the answer to thine own question, dost thou not?”

Lorian blinked.

“ Oh... _yes_ . Yes, I _do_.”

There was that smile again--sunlight breaking through the clouds--and this time, Gwyndolin was in the perfect position to kiss those radiant lips. Lorian made a little noise of delight against his mouth, pressing himself closer, and Gwyndoln’s snakes automatically moved to twine themselves around Lorian’s legs and waist, pulling the knight flush against him and holding him as snugly as he had held the god just a few minutes before. 

It was perfect--simply perfect.

Gwyndolin had no idea how long they had simply laid there on his bed, kissing each other and pressing so close as to lose all sense of separateness, with that elusive orange and amber sunset painting them with shades as warm as their hearts. Eventually, however, Gwyndolin dimly remembered that he was still holding Lorian’s braid together with one hand, so he reluctantly pulled his face away from Lorian’s, chuckling with endearment when the knight whined and tried to chase his lips.

“ Now, now, dearest.” Gwyndolin chided him gently, somehow blushing even _redder_ than he already was at the blurry, utterly besotted expression on Lorian’s face. Over the short yet significant course of their present relationship, the Nameless Moon had quickly discovered that Lorian could become almost _drunk_ on physical affection, which--as Gwyndolin had unfortunately learned--could lead to the elder prince becoming far too overwhelmed and uncoordinated to consent if the two of them were not careful. Moments like this, however? With Lorian’s eyes clouded with bliss and smile sloppy and serene? Gwyndolin would not trade them for anything in the world. “ In case thou hast forgotten, I have to finish fixing thy hair...unless thou wouldst have me squander all of mine hard work?”

“ Oh...yes. That.” Gwyndolin had to bite back a laugh as Lorian slowly processed his words and nodded. It seemed that being an absolute darling ran in the family. “ Could you not just...rebraid my hair, Gwyndolin? It did not take you that long in the first place.”

“ Oh? So mine skills are an infinite resource to be abused just because thou wantest to keep kissing?”

Lorian looked adorably ashamed, and Gwyndolin found himself no longer able to hide his mirth, giggling like a madman as he took one of the knight’s hands and brought it to the end of his braid. “ Hold this while I find a tie. I am eager to see how thou lookest in a full plait.”

With that, Gwyndolin sat up and shifted himself up to the head of the bed, opening the top drawer of his nightstand and beginning to rummage about. By the time he found what he was looking for and turned back to Lorian, he found the knight sitting up in bed with his legs tucked underneath him, staring almost meditatively down at his braid as he brushed his thumb along the tail. Though it was far from the smoothest and most perfectly coiffed of hairstyles, Gwyndolin’s heart leapt into his throat at just how _regal_ Lorian looked with his hair done up so neatly, and it was not even _finished!_

“ Thou art lovely, mine champion.” Even with the sunlight from the window bathing Lorian the orange of stewed marmalade, Gwyndolin could see how the knight’s now-visible ears reddened at the compliment. The god grinned in excitement and held up his favorite hairbrush --Gwynevere’s favorite, with a smooth ivory and silver base and bristles that were soft and unyielding all at once--and scooted closer to Lorian. “ Turn thy back to me; it shall only take a moment or two.”

As much as Gwyndolin had teased Lorian about wanting him to remake the braid instead of pausing to finish, the god quickly discovered that Lorian’s hair had become surprisingly messy during their brief romp (due, in part, to Gwyndolin not being vigilant to hold it as tightly as he should have during the moment), so the Nameless Moon ended up unwinding the plait and starting from scratch anyway. It was no great hardship, however; not only did it give Gwyndolin a chance to brush those silver locks with which he was so enamored, but Lorian’s soft hums of pleasure made the god take far more time with brushing than was reasonable, knowing that a good pampering was the very least of what Lorian deserved. 

Once Lorian’s hair was as smooth and shiny as one of the river plants that grew in the marsh, it was a simple matter of separating his hair into three even strands and winding it in a practiced twist down his back, though Gwyndolin was careful to keep the segments flatter than he had with the original. The resulting look--a simple yet elegant straight braid that ended at the bottom edge of Lorian’s shoulder-blades--was far more attractive than it had any right to be, and Gwyndolin had to take a moment to swallow his heartbeat out of his throat.

“ There.” Gwyndolin concluded in a voice that was not as shaky as he felt, securing the tail with a plain blue hair ribbon before scooting backwards to admire his work. “ I must say, Lorian--thou art a vision with neat hair.”

“ Am I?” Lorian mused, turning on his knees to face Gwyndolin before grabbing the end of his braid and bringing it to his front, staring at the prim bow at the end of the tail as if it held the answers to all of life’s questions. “ Mother used to braid my hair when I was small, but it was far easier to simply put it up in a ponytail once I began to train as a knight, and she never had the chance to teach me how to do it myself.” A beat. “ Does it really look well?”

“ _Very_ well.” Grinning, Gwyndolin placed the brush on his nightstand and picked up his mother’s favorite mirror, handing it to Lorian. “ See for thineself if thou dost not believe me.”

Frowning, Lorian carefully cradled the mirror in his hands (knowing just how important it was to Gwyndolin) and peered at his reflection, his eyebrows slowly creeping up his forehead longer he studied himself. The tendrils of hair that had been too short to put in the braid swung around his face as he tilted his head from side to side and angled the mirror, attempting to catch a glimpse of the braid from the back. Gwyndolin would have to sit him at the vanity mirror and teach him how to properly do so later that night. 

“... _Huh._ ” Something delicate and tender bloomed on Lorian’s face, making Gwyndolin’s heart twist in the most painfully delicious way. “ I...I suppose I do not look half bad, do I?”

“ No.” Gwyndolin voice came out as a rasp, and he quickly coughed to clear it. “ No, mine stalwart; thou dost not look even _close_ to ‘half-bad’.”

Redness shot up Lorian’s ears once more. “ Oh, Gwyndolin…”

The sound of children giggling and little feet pattering down the outside hallway cut off whatever Lorian was to say next, and he and Gwyndolin turned their gazes to the door before meeting them once more, dissolving into giggles after a moment of staring.

“ Do you think Lothric and Yorshka will be merciful enough to allow us to nap before heading down to the festival?” Lorian queried cheekily, passing the mirror back to Gwyndolin, who took it and rested it gently on top of the nightstand.

“ I do not think it is out of the realm of possibility--especially if Wolf and Kuro have tired them out.” Gwyndolin used his snakes to pull himself closer to Lorian and rested his cheek on his shoulder, sighing in satisfaction as the elder prince wrapped his arms around his back and rested his cheek on the crown of Gwyndolin’s head. “ Art thou feeling better?”

Lorian snorted. “ You have no idea.”

A few seconds later, the door to the bedroom was pushed open, and Yorshka’s tail smacked almost violently against the doorway as she entered with Lothric riding on her back. The fact that Lorian did not wince at the sound said a great deal about how used to life in Irithyll he had become.

“ Have the both of thee spent the entire day in _bed?_ ” Yorshka queried, aghast at such an unusual display of laziness from her elder brother, who simply shrugged at her accusation.

“ Mayhap.” Gwyndolin shifted away from Lorian and patted the bed next to them, inviting their siblings to join them. “ More accurately, Lorian and I wished to take a nap before heading to the festival, and we were wondering if the two of thee would like to join us.”

Before Yorshka could reply, Lothric had teleported off of her shoulders and onto Lorian’s lap, the elder brother catching his younger brother in his arms with an adoring laugh.

“ You’ve braided your hair, Lorian!” Lothric’s long, spindly fingers reached eagerly for Lorian’s braid, and the knight obligingly craned his neck forward, allowing Lothric to more easily examine the plait. “ I have never seen you with braided hair before! You look very nice!”

Lorian blushed. “ Ah. Do I?”

“ You _do!_ Like a chivalrous and heroic nobleman from a romantic novel! It truly suits you!” Lothric’s claws rubbed curiously against the blue hair tie. “ Did you do it yourself, or did Lin do it for you?” The younger crossbreed peered curiously at said god, who smiled and nodded.

“ Guilty as charged.” Gwyndolin answered. “ With all of the years I have spent taming Yorshka’s hair--on top of all of the times Filianore forced me to play with her own--I have a great deal of practice when it comes to braiding.”

“ Oh.” Lothric blinked. “ Do...do you think you could braid mine, too? After our nap, of course!”

Gwyndolin’s smile broadened. “ It would be mine absolute pleasure, little Lothric.”

“ Nap? I do not _wish_ to nap!” Yorshka pouted, but nonetheless flopped herself down on the bed with a huff, making Gwyndolin and Lothric roll their eyes. “ I am not tired in the slightest, and there is so much to do, and I do not wish to look like a mess if Lord Yhorm truly _does_ intend to join Ser Siegward for the festivities!”

“ Yorshka, you kept drifting off while we were eating shaved ice in Midori Park, and Kuro and I had to keep kicking you awake.” Lothric mumbled drowsily from where he rested against Lorian’s chest, already being soothed to sleep by the warm and familiar embrace of his earliest days, and his eyes drifted shut as Lorian began to stroke his hair. “ You stayed up all night finishing that paper star charm for Lord Yhorm. Rest? _Please?_ I promise we’ll wake you up before you miss anything.”

“ _Traitor!_ ” Yorshka hissed. Lothric simply shrugged and curled sleepily into Lorian’s chest.

Despite her protests, Yorshka was finally convinced to lie down with her little family, agreeing to ‘rest her eyes for five minutes or so, but no more than that, because I want to be dressed and ready long before we depart!’. Within a minute of her head hitting the pillow, the elder crossbreed child was out like a light, curling her limbs and tail around her eldest brother as she snored like a true dragon. Gwyndolin couldn’t help but chuckle at his sister’s antics.

“ For thy sake, Ser Lorian, I pray that a ‘stubbornness phase’ is not innate to all crossbreed children.” He reached out with the arm that was not wrapped around Yorshka’s back to take Lorian’s own free hand in his own. “ We shall have to be ready to dodge her tail when it is time to wake up.”

“ As is par the course for the Lady of Moonlight and Heir of the Sunless Realms.” Lorian stroked Gwyndolin’s knuckles with the thumb of one hand while running the other up and down Lothric’s back, his fingers tracing the spines hidden beneath the younger prince’s tunic. “ Lord Gwyndolin?”

“ Yes, Ser Lorian?”

“ _Thank you._ ”

Amber and yellow eyes locked with the softest of brown. “ After all thou hast done for minself, mine kingdom, mine _sister_...it was the very least that I could do for thee.”

“ Please, my starlight, I beg you to never say such a thing again.” Lorian whispered with a passion that was unique to him and only him. “ For true love is not supposed to be an exchange of favors.”

Gwyndolin swallowed thickly around the hot lump suddenly stuck in his throat.

“ I know that now. Oh, dearest Lorian, I _know_ that now, and it is all because of _thee_.” The god flattened his palm against Lorian’s own and laced their fingers together. “ I can only hope that thou understandest that truth as much as I.”

“ Of course I do, my Gwyndolin, because you were the one that taught me. All because of you.”

Lorian smiled--wet and shaking, with a goodness innate to all truly precious things--and Gwyndolin suddenly found himself longing for a third hand, only so he could reach over and hold the braid that rested so prettily across the long line of Lorian’s neck.

Gwyndolin loved Lorian’s hair, after all, but nowhere near as much as the knight to whom it belonged.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to all of the Dark Soulz Fanz:tm: on Tumblr that tried to tell me that Lorian and Gwyndolin were too masculine and feminine respectively to be nonbinary. Thanks for the inspiration, but never speak to me again unless you actually know what the hell you're talking about and can discuss it without sounding like a bunch of queerphobic jackasses.


End file.
